


Van Troubles and Other Relationship Problems

by TooRational



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Communication, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Insecure Patrick Stump, Jumping to Conclusions, Kissing, M/M, Podfic Welcome, Relationship Problems, Softness, Touring, Warped Tour, all of Patrick's feelings are located in his legs, cursing, kicking, one tiny misunderstanding, patrick curses so much in this what the fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:33:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26659000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooRational/pseuds/TooRational
Summary: When they find out they're officially a part of the summer's Warped Tour, amidst the celebratory jumping, hollering and hugging the four of them are doing, Pete grabs Patrick and kisses him right on the mouth.And then immediately turns away and pretends nothing happened.So, that's a new one.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 22
Kudos: 56
Collections: Warped 2020





	Van Troubles and Other Relationship Problems

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** First off, timeline what timeline? This Warped is almost definitely not set in 2005. In fact, I'd headcanon it closer to 2002-2003, if you need mental images and a general setting, but I've deliberately kept it vague.
> 
> Secondly, Patrick curses like a sailor in this fic for some reason, and Pete is not far behind, so the rating is because of language. There's nothing racier than some kissing in here, folks. Sorry not sorry.
> 
> And finally, thanks to the lovely [throwupsparkles](https://throwupsparkles.tumblr.com/), who not only organized this wonderful challenge, but also pulled me out of my fic-related panic spiral and gave me the perfect words to describe Mikey Way. Thank you so much, you're the sweetest human and I don't know what I'd do without you. ♥
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Lies, untruths, complete fabrication, made for fun. Imagine we're in an alternate universe in which a butterfly batted its wings and, like, Warped something *mumble* ~LOVE! Blessings on all these lovely people and their loved ones, may they live in happiness and health for a very, very long time. (And if you dare bother them, I'm personally going to kick the shit out of your disrespectful ass. You've been warned.)

When they find out they're officially a part of the summer's Warped Tour, amidst the celebratory jumping, hollering and hugging the four of them are doing, Pete grabs Patrick and kisses him right on the mouth.

And then immediately turns away and pretends nothing happened.

So, that's a new one.

***

This whole thing with the band and music and Pete wasn't supposed to happen this way. It shouldn't be… _whatever_ it is now. Patrick isn't even sure what that is, honestly.

It started as a fun distraction, grew into something more serious since people liked it more than expected (but then again, maybe they were just picking up on their own energy, and the uncomplicated, pure exhilaration they felt at being on stage together), and now they have this record, and Pete is trying to be a noble, self-sacrificing _asshole_ , and is generally way more of a good guy than would be expected, and Patrick kind of doesn't want anything else — not a career, not a band, not even a _life_ in general — without having these guys involved in it.

Without having _Pete_ right there beside him.

All this meaning: the fluffy, soft feelings were there already, okay, there was really _no need_ for Pete to throw an even bigger wrench into this whole mess by _kissing him_.

_On the mouth._

Where… Patrick's mouth is, and all.

Then again, when has Pete ever encountered a situation he wasn't thrilled to escalate, push to the extreme, or make a million times worse? That's Pete through and through: instigator, provocateur, pusher of boundaries, smasher of limits.

But Patrick is usually either a willing participant in Pete's assholery, smack dab in the middle of it, or his boundaries are respected and he's staying away, ready to bail Pete out of whatever trouble he'd gotten himself into. So it's incredibly confusing to find all of that chaos turned _against_ him.

Basically, they're in uncharted waters now.

Heaven have mercy on them.

***

Patrick remains in a state of confused insecurity for a couple of hours, and then he's just _angry_.

The fact that they don't have practice the day after The Event just lets him stew some more, so by the time Pete rushes in half an hour late to Joe's attic, Patrick is fuming.

And then Pete leaves early, and Patrick has to set the guitar down very, very carefully, otherwise he'll smash it into a million little pieces.

He can't afford a new guitar. He can't afford to pay _Joe_ for a new guitar. Therefore, Patrick controls himself.

This must be what being a grown up is like.

Patrick is a little bit proud of himself.

***

The problem is, Pete didn't think this through.

It's not Patrick who's sensitive to being ignored.

It's Pete.

The _fucker_.

***

A week later, they're in the van again, on their way back from a weekend gig. It's the dead of the night, somewhere around 4 am, and Joe and Andy are sleeping in the back.

Pete stops for snacks and to try to tape the side mirror back in place, and Patrick takes the opportunity to stretch his legs. In a direction generally not where Pete is.

He should have known it wouldn't work.

"Go away," he says, not needing to turn around to know Pete is behind him. He can feel him, lingering a few steps away.

"Patrick—"

"Go away, or I swear I'll fucking drop kick you in the throat."

There's a pause, then Pete says, "…no you won't."

" _Try_ me."

Patrick is definitely ready for kicking by now. He's passed the infuriated stage and is deeply in the rage blackouts stage, and Pete knows him well enough to carefully stay out of reach when that happens.

He scoffs, though.

Patrick can give him something to scoff over.

"Fine. Come on, I'm done, we're going."

Patrick follows after half a minute, just to be obnoxious.

They've been back on the road for all of ten minutes, tension filling the space between them like a thick, invisible fog, when Patrick's frustration spills over. It's either speak or murder Pete, and unfortunately, he _likes_ the bastard.

So, _so_ much.

"Stopped pretending nothing happened, did you," he says flatly, tone as dry as he can make it. He's thinking parched thoughts. He's visualizing deserts. We're talking Sahara levels of dryness here.

"What? Um, no. What are you talking about?"

Patrick glares at the side of Pete's head so hard, Pete flinches a little.

"Look, Patrick…"

And suddenly Patrick doesn't want to hear the speech.

He _knows_ the speech, and even if he didn't, what does it matter? His point is clear: Pete either doesn't like him, or likes him but not enough to disturb the status quo. There is no third option.

"Whatever excuse you're gonna use, don't bother."

"Don't do that," Pete says, tone a mix of plaintive and frustrated.

"Why not."

Patrick is kind of enjoying this, in a sadistic sort of way. Maybe sadomasochistic. He is prolonging his own suffering, too, after all.

"Like— all— come on, it's a bad idea, you know that."

Patrick knows.

"Because of the band, yes, I know."

"And I'm—"

"Pretty fucked up, yeah, you told me that the third day after we met."

"You're just—"

"Too young?" Patrick said, meeting Pete's slightly desperate gaze with his own, so angry that he circled back to being eerily calm. "Don't you fucking _dare_. Too good for you? Way too talented to stay in a band with someone as shit on the bass as you? Yep, heard you the first seventeen times."

Pete lets out a frustrated groan and rubs a hand over his face. He's still watching the road but Patrick isn't sure if he's really seeing it. Good thing there's barely anyone else driving at this hour.

"You know how my relationships turn out," he says finally.

"Are you saying I'd just be one in a string? Because first of all, I know you, you _asshole_ , and your trail-of-broken-hearts reputation is 90% bullshit; second, I'd kick your ass if you tried to dump me after a week; and third," and at this Patrick leans in toward Pete, one hand on the dashboard, and whispers with all the bravado he can muster, "who says _I_ wouldn't end up dumping _your_ sorry ass?"

Patrick is almost sorry for that last part because, when he glances over, he can _see_ Pete believing it, internalizing it. But the asshole _did_ leave him stewing for a week.

A week is… it's a long time.

Suddenly, Patrick is tired. He slumps back into his seat sideways, drops his head on the headrest, and says, "I know it all, Pete. Every single thing you thought about, so did I. And if you want to lie to yourself, that's fine with me. Run away as far and as fast as you can. Pretend nothing happened. I just think it's all bullshit."

There's a lot more Patrick could say to Pete, but as far as speeches and compelling arguments go, that's it. That's all he's got.

"You should give me the benefit of the doubt," Patrick says finally, after a few minutes' worth of silence.

He really should. Not only to Patrick but to himself, too. Patrick may be younger than Pete but he sees things clearly, and that includes seeing _Pete_ clearly.

Much clearer than Pete sees himself, apparently.

So here goes nothing.

"Do you like me?" Patrick asks.

His heart is in his throat because, as melodramatic as it sounds, the course of his entire future hangs on this moment. It's the difference between him and Pete trying this thing — maybe ruining the band and each other completely, maybe not — and them taking a step back and staying friends. If such a thing is even possible by now.

Pete nods.

One down, one to go, and this is the tricky one.

"Do you want to be with me?"

When Pete looks over, his eyes are luminous in the darkness, and so beautiful, and impossible to read.

"Yeah," he answers after a small eternity has passed.

Patrick's knees threaten to give out. Good thing he's sitting down.

"Okay then."

And that's that.

It seems.

***

And then they come home and kind of… don't see each other for a week, what with setting up one last gig before the summer, and getting organized before Warped (Warped! They're gonna go on Warped Tour, _as performers_!), and Patrick ends up kind of assuming Pete changed his mind.

He had to have, right?

But they talked it out, at least. Patrick can be an adult about this.

"Hey," Pete says as Patrick is packing up his guitar after the practice they finally managed to squeeze in between all of their running around.

"Hey," Patrick says, as casually as he can manage, and turns around to face Pete.

Pete is very close.

He looks effortlessly good as always, clean shaven, hair short and with a little bit of natural curl on top. Pete's hair always has a mind of its own, that's why Pete spends so much time trying to style it into submission.

Patrick's pathetic, treacherous heart skips a beat.

"Sorry I, um, I was arranging everything for Warped."

"Yeah, I know," Patrick says.

If Pete is anything, he's responsible about band-related issues, keeping everyone up to date with the latest developments. Even if the latest developments sometimes include things they haven't really discussed properly, as a band.

Pete looks at him for a few beats, then shuffles that bit closer, whispers, "Missed you," and before Patrick can really comprehend what's going on, Pete _kisses him_.

It's a soft, gentle press of lips, and it's technically their first, deliberate, on-purpose kiss, and it's over before Patrick can finish thinking ' _this is becoming a habit_ '.

Patrick opens his eyes to a world mentally tilted a little bit, because, uh, they're apparently doing this?

Pete smiles and kisses him on the cheek, a quick smack that heats Patrick's cheeks.

Yep, they're definitely doing this.

"Missed you, too," he manages, and the shy smile that illuminates Pete's face makes this entire stupid week worth it.

"Yeah?" Pete asks with this _look_ on his face. It's a bit skeptical, and a bit pleased, and 100% trying to cover up both.

Every once in a while, the sheer lake of insecurity and anxiety dwelling inside Pete becomes crystal clear to Patrick. The fact that Pete isn't quite sure Patrick is happy to see him, that he doesn't even expect to be missed when he's gone, makes Patrick want to track down all of Pete's exes and have a serious chat with them, starting with the words ' _What the_ actual fuck' and ending somewhere near ' _And now he's mine so fuck_ all the way off _and don't come back_ '.

"Yeah," Patrick says seriously. Because all that other stuff might scare Pete away and make Patrick seem a little unhinged, which is _not_ the right impression to leave so early in a relationship. Even Patrick knows that.

Pete smiles wider, and kisses him again, and then they have much better things to do than think…

Well, than to _think_ at all.

***

Warped Tour.

There should be stars and exclamation points and lots of fireworks every time those words are uttered or even thought about, because _holy. crap._

Patrick has never been so excited in his life.

Being on Warped is like drowning in music — it's shows and performances every day, talking about music every second you're not physically playing music, learning new things, discovering new bands, meeting new people. It's like being in a candy store for Patrick, gorging on the atmosphere, soaking everything in like a sponge. He's dizzy with knowledge and possibilities and new experiences. He's on stage and singing every single night, and he still gets seized by that same half-terror half-euphoria that he felt the first time he stepped up to the microphone.

It's not all great, though. There's the endless driving, no beds, no showers, too many people around _constantly_ , and periods of boredom followed by a frantic rush to get ready to perform.

It's also the first time he and Pete are together all day every day, and the freedom of it is both intoxicating and slightly homicidal.

Meaning that they're on the verge of killing each other half the time.

"No, no, no, you can't change that word, it has to stay—"

"Pete, it doesn't _work_ with this section—"

"—it doesn't _work_ if you change the word either, it automatically changes all the implications—"

"—and if you change your mind about this song one more time, I will _literally_ murder you—"

" _What_? Name one time I changed this line—"

"You changed all the other lines! _Every_ other line, every _fucking_ single one, and each time I adjust and fix the melody, and the bass line, and the guitar, and the drums, you fuck around and change with something else! Make up your goddamn mind!"

Pete takes a breath to argue back and then visibly reconsiders.

"…okay, that might be true. Sorry," he says sheepishly.

Patrick lets out an inarticulate yell and shows great restraint in not strangling Pete then and there, in the van that is hot and stuffy despite all the doors and windows being opened.

"You know it's all your fault," Pete says, not even blinking as this outrageous and patently untrue statement passes his lips.

" _What_?" Patrick splutters.

"Come on, you're a freaking genius, and every time I change something you adjust and make it even better! There's nothing you can't do, okay?"

Oh, wow.

What could Patrick possibly say to that?

"Listen, that is… not gonna work on me," Patrick tries.

Pete just grins at him and leans in. "It's true though."

"Shut up," Patrick mumbles, and drags Pete closer when he tries to merely drop a quick kiss on his cheek; he fists his hand into Pete's tank top and kisses him, and _kisses him_ , stealing the oxygen from both of them in one fell swoop. Pete is a wall of heat in front of him, blocking out everything but the intoxicating scent of his skin, the soft feel of it under Patrick's hands.

It's like Patrick's whole, entire world consists of Pete, and that is… pretty damn great.

***

It is hot as shit, and the reason it's hot as shit is because the van developed this thing where it needs to have the fucking _heat on_ in the _middle of the summer_ so it doesn't overheat and strand them all at the side of the road in… wherever the fuck they are.

In addition to the heat, the van keeps making this annoying squeaky noise, and the duct-taped side mirror keeps falling over every hundred miles or so. Patrick has no idea what magic is keeping this rust bucket running; it's basically held together with duct tape and wishful thinking.

It's the middle of the night again and they're driving directly from last night's performance to the next stop because they're in dire need of a motel night, and the _showers_ that come with it, before they all lose what little sense of smell they have. Andy is behind the wheel, since he's the most awake of them all. Joe is supposed to be helping him stay awake but he's snoring away merrily, and Pete and Patrick are curled up in the back, very carefully not touching.

If anyone puts a single finger on him, Patrick will start kicking, then probably die of heatstroke on the spot.

He drifts in that exhausting space between sleep and wakefulness for a long time, until he realizes the van isn't moving anymore.

"Hey," Andy whispers, and Patrick looks at him blearily.

"Hm?"

"Here's the extra room key. You gonna stay here or?"

Patrick glances at Pete. He's out like a light; knees up, sideways in the seat, hoodie waddled up like a pillow. He looks criminally adorable.

The thing is, if Pete falls asleep then no one is allowed to wake him up, that's the rule. If they try to, even if only to walk to the bed in the motel room, he's not going back to sleep for a minimum of four hours. That was proven many times over by now. And there's no way Patrick is leaving Pete alone in the van because the last time it happened, someone fucking broke in. Pete tells it like a fun story at parties by now, but he was genuinely freaked out at the time, as was Patrick.

So Patrick stays with Pete when he falls asleep in the van now. Every time, for as long as it takes.

He is not moving until Pete wakes up.

"Yeah," Patrick says, pocketing the key.

"'Kay. Call us if you need anything."

"Yeah, okay. Thanks."

Patrick's sure Andy and Joe would take a shift with no complaints, too, but he never gives them a chance. Especially since Pete and him started this thing of theirs.

It's a bit cooler now, with the heating off and it being night and all, and the only sound he hears is a gentle tick tick tick from the cooling engine. Patrick finds his hoodie and digs out a spare one from his duffel bag, moving slow as not to make too much noise. He pulls the first hoodie on, then drapes the other over Pete gingerly.

Pete doesn't even twitch, breaths deep and even. Patrick settles back into his own seat, mirroring Pete's position against the other side of the van, and drifts off.

It feels like only five minutes has passed when he drifts back up towards consciousness, but there's early morning light coming through the windows.

Pete is sitting close to Patrick, curled towards him, head resting on a bent arm. He's playing with Patrick's fingers, touch featherlight.

"Can I tell you something fucked up?" he says.

Pete has told Patrick some truly fucked up shit before, and behaved like it was nothing, so the fact that he's preempting this one by actually telling him about the fucked up factor in advance makes Patrick pause.

"Sure," he says, instead of ' _there's nothing you can't tell me_ ' and ' _please tell me everything that crosses your mind, every day, forever_ '.

"When I don't want to get up, or when everything around me is too heavy or too dark, I think of you. How you'll smile at me, or curse me out, or do something new and brilliant, like you always do. And I don't want to miss any of that. So I get up."

There is being in a relationship, there is being the codependent tangle of more-than-friends that they are, and then there's being responsible for someone's mental health. One of these is not like the others, and the weight of that sort of responsibility is enough to almost suffocate Patrick.

And no matter how romantic it sounds right now, there is no way Patrick is equipped to handle Pete's mental health on his own, that's _terrifying_ , even from the outside.

But he's been doing it already, and with great success apparently, so maybe he knows a little bit about it? The least he can do is keep a closer eye on the situation, now that he knows.

Besides—

"That's… that's pretty fucked up. And kind of terrifying," Patrick says, "But if it helps, I always want to see you, too. And I always miss you when you're not with me."

Pete doesn't meet his eyes but he does smile down at their intertwined hands.

"Wanna go in? Maybe shower? You're pretty rank," Pete says, and the heavy cloud of emotion around them dissipates.

Patrick laughs and kicks Pete in the thigh. Gently.

"Yeah, let's go."

***

It's not just the fact that Patrick can't grow a beard — or any facial hair, really — to save his life while Pete shaves every morning.

It's not the fact that Patrick feels awkward in his limbs while Pete flaunts tattoos and miles of gorgeous skin with barely a thought.

It's even the fact that Patrick has had precisely one relationship (Pete) while Pete had a handful of serious(ly fucked up) ones and a double fistful of hookups (that Patrick knows of; who knows how much more there is that Patrick hasn't even heard about?).

It's not even the fact that Pete is magnetic, a half-legend half-villain of the Scene, or that he's the one with all the words, or that he's the one who is the brain behind their band and their progress and their direction, or that his insight and charm is the reason they have a fanbase at all — Pete is all that and more, while Patrick is just… _Patrick_. A music-obsessed, grumpy, argumentative little snob. Nothing new or original.

It's none of those things, and it's all of them at once because, one brush stroke at a time, all of these small details start to paint a pretty damning picture, which is: why the _fuck_ would Pete want to have anything to do with Patrick?

Yes, no one has ever looked at Patrick the way Pete looks at him, like he's _more_ than special. Pete makes him feel like he's the most important person in the room, the most talented person he's ever met.

But sooner or later, Pete is going to realize Patrick really isn't All That, and then…

Then, Patrick is going to lose everything.

And he's aware he's going in circles with this line of thinking, coming back to it over and over again when he's low, or tired, or sad, but he can't help it. It's like biting the inside of your cheek and then dragging the tip of your tongue over the sore spot every five seconds: impulsive, and fascinating, with a side of pleasure-pain.

Since it's a bit ridiculous that Patrick is having these sorts of doubts now, when he's already _in a relationship_ with Pete, when he was the one so full of bravado that he practically _forced_ Pete to be his boyfriend, he doesn't tell Pete about any of it. If it's true, he doesn't want to know it, and if it isn't, he'll just dredge up shit that neither of them needs to be dealing with in the first place.

Patrick almost manages to convince himself of this, is almost ready to relax into this mind-boggling, sometimes stinky, kind of magical relationship he's having.

And then Pete meets Mikey Way.

***

Patrick isn't quite sure how they managed to avoid meeting the MCR guys so far, almost half-way into the summer, but they did. Patrick himself hasn't had much contact with them, other than the day Pete dragged Mikey Way over to introduce him, but he talked to some people and everyone says they're good people. Passionate about their music, mad skills with the instruments, slightly weird — a pretty standard Warped band, in general.

So it makes no sense that, when Patrick sees Pete talk to Mikey Way for maybe the tenth time in half as many days, standing close and smiling with all his teeth, hands flying around in order to emphasize whatever he's saying, he feels like a bucket of ice cold water just got up-ended over his head.

It's a nonsensical, visceral reaction, and it paralyzes Patrick, but he's _so_ sure of it.

_This is it._

This is when Pete realizes he can do better, that the 'better' is someone who can party like Pete, is as laid back as Pete, doesn't kick, or yell, or argue with Pete constantly, and he's currently standing right in front of Pete.

And Pete is going to turn around, march over to where Patrick is sitting, and ditch him like a hot potato. Or just a potato-potato, since no one would ever use the word 'hot' in relation to Patrick.

Patrick's stomach contracts painfully.

It takes a few minutes of controlled, quiet breathing for the panic to ebb away, and then Patrick is left with a swirling mix of sadness, anger, and absurdly, _loss_. It's not like he won't still have Pete, even if they break up. They'll manage to go back to being friends, Patrick is sure of it.

Eventually. After Patrick's pulverized heart heals a little.

But right now, that same heart fucking physically _hurts_. There's a pain radiating all over his chest cavity, pressing on his lungs, making it hard to breathe.

When Pete comes over, bouncing with energy, for one disorienting second it feels like Pete is mocking Patrick — he's so cheerful, scuffling playfully with Joe, that it's like adding insult to injury.

Andy separates them like one would two unruly puppies after a few minutes and drags Joe away on a coffee scavenging hunt, and Pete drops on the grass next to Patrick and leans against the front wheel of the van, looking infuriatingly happy.

"Hey, 'Tricky," he says with a shoulder-bump.

"Don't call me that," Patrick says, pretending to be deeply immersed into his phone.

"No problem, Lunchbox. What'cha doing?"

"Nothing," he says as he scrolls through his contacts.

There are so many numbers. Who the fuck even are half of these people? Patrick should do some cleaning, delete most of these.

"You okay?" Pete says.

"Fine."

Patrick should _definitely_ delete Aunt Mary's number. He can say it was an accident. His finger slipped.

"Patrick."

Patrick can't see Pete's face but he can hear the frown in his voice.

"I'm _fine_."

Patrick is a goddamn liar, is what he is. He is so completely _not_ fine.

Another point for Mikey. Mikey never gets mad. Hell, Patrick isn't sure he ever saw Mikey _frown_.

"Why are you even here?" Patrick asks abruptly, looking at Pete for the first time since he sat down.

Fuck, he is so handsome.

 _Fuck_ , Patrick is so in love with him.

Fuck, this is going to _hurt_.

"What?"

"I thought you were hanging out with Mikey."

"I was," Pete says slowly.

"So, maybe you should go back. I'm sure he'll be happy to see you."

After all, who wouldn't be happy to see Pete? Patrick sees him practically every day, and he's still yearning for more, all the time. It's pathetic.

"Okay, what the hell is going on? Because this feels like walking straight into a— a fucked up Mirror Universe of some kind. Were you replaced by a pod person? Blink twice for yes, once for no."

That is so perfectly illogical, and so perfectly _Pete_ , and Patrick wants to _sob_.

"That makes no sense," Patrick grumbles, and then before he can lose his nerve, "What were you and Mikey talking about?"

"Nothing special. Cool bass designs, this party he went to last night, his latest hookup. This prank Frankie pulled recently. It was so funny, the way he told the story, you gotta get him to tell you, I can't do it like he does."

Patrick stares at Pete, speechless.

The compatibility points just keep going up and up, don't they?

"What?" Pete asks self-consciously.

Patrick shakes his head, throat completely closed. He couldn't make a sound if he tried.

"I— I just— I _like him_ ," Pete says with a helpless shrug, like it's _nothing_ , a simple fact, a mere fucking observation.

Patrick didn't know you can feel words slam into your solar plexus _physically_ before but he sure as hell knows it now.

"Oh," he says, the rasp in his voice the only sign his heart is trying to crawl out of his body to avoid listening to this any longer.

That's it, then.

Pete _does_ think Mikey is better than Patrick.

Shit, it hurts more than Patrick thought it would.

But it's what Patrick assumed would happen, and now that it did, he can't even scrounge up any anger; heartbreak is all there is. Because Pete deserves to be happy, deserves _everything_.

Patrick should take this with dignity and absolutely _no goddamn tears_. Even though it's really hard to be adult and reasonable when your eyes are burning and you're struggling to take in the next breath.

"I guess— I guess I'll go, then," Patrick says.

"What are you talking about? Go where?" Pete says with a confused frown on his face.

"Wherever, away, somewhere," Patrick mutters and stands up.

"Patrick?" Pete says, and Patrick can't handle the worry in Pete's voice.

"You should probably give me some time, you know. And space, though that will be a bit harder, since we're on tour. But when we're back home, I think it'll work out. It's just until I get used to it, it's okay. I won't let it affect the band, I promise, I just… I just need some time."

" _What_? No no no, Patrick, no, what _the fuck_ ," Pete says, scrambling to his feet frantically. He reaches for Patrick and—

" _Don't_ touch me," Patrick says, flinching away from him.

The last thing he wants right now are Pete's hands anywhere near him. He'll shatter into a million pieces.

Or worse, attach himself to Pete and beg him never to let go.

Pete lifts his hands automatically as soon as Patrick flinched, an 'I surrender' move that would be hilarious in any other situation.

"Patrick, I don't understand what's going on. _Talk_ to me," Pete begs.

"It's—" Patrick wants to say ' _it's okay_ ' but it gets stuck in his throat. "You can go to him, it's f— fine. I won't force you to stay with me, come on."

Does Pete really think Patrick wants him to be unhappy? To pretend to like Patrick, what, for the band? No band is worth that.

"What— _Who_ are you talking abo—" Pete says, then stalls, mind clearly running a hundred miles per hour. "Is this about _Mikey_?"

In case there's a scoreboard somewhere, Patrick is very confused right now. He's not sure if he's more confused than Pete seems to be, considering he forgot _who his future boyfriend is_ , but he's close.

"Oh my _god_ , I like him as a friend, Patrick, _just as a friend_. He's a cool guy and we click in so many ways, but there's nothing more to it, I _swear_. And he's _dating Frankie_."

Patrick stares at Pete blankly, words bouncing around in his head but not really registering.

Not…

But…

A friend?

Really?

"Patrick, did you hear me," Pete snaps, and oh right, talking. It's a thing.

"Really?" Patrick asks.

"Fucking _really_ ," Pete says.

"So… You're not breaking up with me?" Patrick asks cautiously, needing it spelled out right now because nothing is making sense.

" _No_ , I am most definitely _not_ breaking up with you," Pete says, and then, mindbogglingly, "Are _you_ breaking up with _me_?"

 _What_?

" _What_?" Patrick says, then, " _No_!"

They stare at each other for a few moments, then Pete bends over with the force of his exhale, a hand on his chest.

"Fuck, Patrick, you almost gave me a heart attack," he babbles as he straightens back up and puts both hands on top of his head, a tremble in his voice, "I swear I had flashbacks to the fights I had with Mia for a second there, I half expected to see a glass come flying at me, got ready to dodge and all."

Oh no.

Ohh, has Patrick fucked this up royally or what.

Patrick takes the two steps it takes to reach Pete and hugs him tight, as tight as he can, and buries his head in the crook of Pete's shoulder. He squeezes his eyes shut against the tears but a few still escape, the storm of emotion he's held inside finally releasing, making him tremble.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into Pete's collarbone, and Pete's arms wrapping around his shoulders are like a blessing, and forgiveness, and relief all rolled into one. "I'm so sorry."

"Hey, it's okay," Pete says, low, but the tightness of his hold on Patrick makes it obvious it's not.

"Where did all that come from anyway?" Pete asks a few minutes later, and the fact that he didn't let go of Patrick at all, cuddled him and dropped kisses on his head every so often, is… indescribable.

"It's just…" Patrick says, then figures since he made the mess, he should as well face it.

He pulls back a little, enough to look into Pete's eyes, and tries to explain himself.

"You can do better than me. No, you _can_ , and I don't know how you can't see it. And I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, and for you to realize it and go off into the sunset with someone like Mikey, who is cool, and laid back, and good looking, and I just… I don't know. I might have flipped out a little when I saw you talking to him all the time."

"But I don't want Mikey," Pete says, "I don't want anyone but you. What will it take for you to believe that?"

Patrick shrugs helplessly.

"I don't know. This helped. The talking bit, I mean, not the flipping out bit," Patrick clarifies. Then, chewing at his bottom lip nervously, he says, "A bit of time?"

"'Kay. We can try that," Pete nods, then cups Patrick's face with his hands and kisses him, deep and slow.

"Don't you know you're my true blue," Pete says when they draw apart, whispers it breathlessly into Patrick's ear like it's a secret.

"I don't know what that means," Patrick whispers back, but he's smiling. "Is it a good thing?"

It sounds like a promise.

Pete smiles back and kisses him again.

"It's a very good thing," he says firmly.

"Okay. Then I guess you're my true blue, too."

The smile that appears on Pete's face is blinding.

**Author's Note:**

> ETA: Completely forgot to add the prompt! It was "van troubles".
> 
> As always, [come talk to me on tumblr](https://toorational.tumblr.com/)!


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